


love it to death

by forfree



Category: RPF - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 21:26:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9567416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forfree/pseuds/forfree
Summary: siiick





	

Beyoncé arrives at the city morgue on an early Tuesday morning. She waves hello to her coworker Kelly at the front desk while she’s on her way to the back of the building. Once there, she sits at a small desk in the back room and records the date, time, and location of the autopsy she’s about to perform are taking place.

 

Her day is set out for her, seeing as she’s preparing to perform a complex autopsy. She spends time filling out mind-numbingly, mandatory, boring paperwork and then takes photographs of the body on the dissection table. The body belongs to a Ullman, Jordan, born September eighth, nineteen eighty-three. His neck has two large bruises on it, one for each side, and an assortment of scratches and cuts are littered all over his torso. His lips are blue and his eyes are closed, he looks peaceful despite the fact that he (most likely, Beyoncé’ll have to see) went out with a bit of a struggle.

 

She removes the thin chain he’d had on, and while she turns her back to put it away for later reference, she swears she hears someone complaining about the room being cold. She brushes it off and assumes she’s hearing things. She turns to make her way back to the body, writing down more information down on the documents in her hand.

 

“I’m so cold,” Beyoncé hears. It’s quiet, but the room is quiet too, so it’s more audible than it probably would be if she were elsewhere. 

 

She looks up from what she’s writing and nothing in the room’s changed. She looks closer at the body on the table, studying his face thoroughly. To her, it looks as if he hasn’t shaved in about a week. His lips are parted, and Beyoncé’s brow furrows. She doesn’t remember seeing that before. Despite that fact, she moves on, though she still can’t help but to feel a bit strange.

 

As procedure calls for, she takes his pants (the only article of clothing on him) off, starting with his belt. She fiddles with the buckle for far too long while she stares at his face. She’s really suspicious of whatever’s going on, and frankly, she hopes nothing worse occurs. 

 

“He’s dead. He’s not gonna do anything,” Beyoncé tries to assure herself. She can barely believe what she’s saying.

 

“You aren’t gonna take me on a date first?” Jordan croaks. His body is still, his eyes are closed like before, but there’s a small smirk on his face.

 

Beyoncé screams very loudly and jumps away from the table. She stares at Jordan’s body in shocked silence, her heart hammering away inside of her chest. She feels like she’s about to faint. After a few minutes of that, something in her tells her to go back to Jordan’s body and finish what she’d set out to do. She takes slow, steady steps over to his body, but not before grabbing a nearby scalpel just in case something happens.

 

She stands over him and looks at his face again. His eyes fly open, dull blue irises on full display. “Hey, you’re back. Almost thought you didn’t wanna play with me anymore.”

 

Beyoncé screams and swipes at his face with the scalpel in her hand, leaving a sizeable gash in his cheek. He doesn’t react to the assault aside from an attempt at scowling, but it’s difficult for him due to the rigor mortis that had set in previously. He stares at Beyoncé. 

 

“Who the fuck are you?” Beyoncé asks, her voice shaky. “That’s a dumb fuckin’ question, I already know that, fuck-”

 

“So, am I like, half-dead, or like, dead-dead?” Jordan asks slowly.

 

Beyoncé makes a startled noise at him speaking again and jumps. She takes in a deep breath. “I-I don’t know.”

 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Jordan asks incredulously. “You were literally about to cut me open and look all in my body and stuff.”

 

Beyoncé scowls at his tone. “Well, shouldn’t you ask yourself that? You’re the one in your fucking body, bitch.”

 

“Whoa, hold on, watch the attitude, girl,” Jordan says. 

 

“Don’t call me that,” Beyoncé says, unable to shake the fearfulness from her voice. 

 

Jordan tries to move something in his lower body and he groans; the groan dissipates into a chuckle. “Ease up, girl, loosen up.”

 

The force with which Beyoncé slaps Jordan combined with Jordan’s rigor mortis leaves Jordan’s head permanently turned at an angle. She's confused; why'd she just slap a dead man?

 

“Shut the fuck up.”

 

Jordan hums quietly. “I like girls with attitude. Liked? Like? Still don’t know if I’m dead.”

 

Beyoncé feels for a pulse. Nothing.

 

“Nothing,” Beyoncé breathes, awed, “Amazing.”

 

“So, I’m technically dead?” Jordan asks.

 

Beyoncé nods.

 

“So,” Jordan groans as he forces himself to sit up, various bones popping and creaking so audibly that it’s sickening, “I’m some kind of freak of nature?”

 

Beyoncé shrieks at Jordan moving. “Possibly,” she says, backing away from him.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> siiick


End file.
